


Every Time It Comes On

by nagi_schwarz



Series: Prompt Fills 2018 [54]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-09-23 14:40:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17082218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nagi_schwarz/pseuds/nagi_schwarz
Summary: Written for the song stylings prompt:Stargate Atlantis, John Sheppard/Rodney McKay (/Evan Lorne /Ronon Dex),Come on babyPlay me like a love songEvery time it comes onI get this sweet desire(Troye Sivan)Rodney finds himself sitting around with Evan, John, and Ronon, having beers and snacks and talking about music.





	Every Time It Comes On

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SherlockianSyndromes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SherlockianSyndromes/gifts).



One thing Rodney hadn’t expected from starting to hook up with John, Evan, and Ronon was the four of them hanging and, well, being friends.

But they were gathered in Rodney’s room one night, listening to music and drinking beers and talking and laughing, and Rodney couldn’t remember ever hanging out with anyone like this, not when he’d been in high school or college or grad school or anywhere before Atlantis. Four guys hanging out like this was what happened to other people on sitcoms and coming-of-age dramas.

Somehow, over the course of Rodney’s relationship with the other three men, he’d accumulated more furniture so all of them could sit around his coffee table. John and Ronon always kicked their feet up, but Evan tended to sit cross-legged in a wide armchair. He also usually brought snacks to their gatherings, which Rodney appreciated, because Evan made good snacks and had access to the better snacks he didn’t otherwise make.

“It is possible to make your own potato chips, though,” Evan said, sliding a bowl of dip toward Rodney.

“How?” John asked.

“Well, you chip potatoes and cook them,” Evan said.

“Do people actually do that?” Rodney frowned.

Evan laughed. “Yes, people actually do that.”

“He’s trying to distract you,” Ronon said, “from the fact that he has terrible taste in music.”

“I do  _ not _ have terrible taste in music,” Evan protested, gesturing with his beer bottle.

“Joni Mitchell and Peter Paul and Mary are so... _ hippie,” _ John said.

Evan arched an eyebrow at him. “You have never had complaints about my being raised on a hippie commune before.”

John took a long pull of his beer. “I do now.”

“It’s not  _ all _ hippie music. I really like the Red Hot Chili Peppers,” Evan said.

Ronon frowned. “Isn’t that some kind of food?”

“Well, chili peppers are,” Rodney said.

John hooted. “Funk music? Really? That’s so - ”

“If you say  _ hippie _ I’m going to hurt you.” But Evan was grinning, amused.

“I was going to say oversexed and drug-fueled,” John said.

“Having sex to good music is fun,” Evan said. “Helps you get a good rhythm going.”

Rodney shook his head. “No. As the only non-musician of this group, you do  _ not _ get to talk about what constitutes a good rhythm. Having sex to music is just - distracting.”

But Ronon cocked his head, expression thoughtful. “I guess it would depend on the music.”

John also looked contemplative. “There are some songs I would totally have sex to. None of them are Chili Peppers songs, though.”

“If you say Johnny Cash, you get to go celibate for a week,” Evan said.

“Quiet, non-musician,” Rodney said with mock-sharpness, even though he actually agreed.

“There are some Muse songs I’d totally do it to,” John said. “That heavy grinding beat, plus the really sexy guitars? Perfect.”

“I could see that,” Evan said. “Although since Johnny Cash is your favorite, I’m surprised Muse is someone you’d even try.”

Ronon said, “I thought a muse was a girl who told you to write poetry.”

John eyed him. “We are definitely going to have to improve your music education.”

“Usually you just make me watch movies,” Ronon said.

John reached out, scooped up Rodney’s laptop. Rodney made a sound of protest, but John said, “Here, let me build you a playlist - some Muse, some Chili Peppers for Evan, some Led Zeppelin. What do you want to contribute, Rodney?”

Evan peered over John’s shoulder. “ACDC’s Shook Me All Night Long? You spent too much time around Cam Mitchell.”

“Like you didn’t,” John shot back, and there was an undertone to that exchange that Rodney couldn’t quite read.

“The Clash,” Rodney said. “Lover’s Rock.”

John nodded, then paused, looked at him. “Punk? Really?”

“I’m not all classical up in here,” Rodney protested.

John finished clicking away at the laptop, then set it aside, and sure enough, Led Zeppelin’s Black Dog started to play.

Ronon tilted his head, listening, considering, because even though movies and TV shows tended to try his patience, music and literature and art were things he cared about.

John glanced at Rodney, caught his eye, tilted his head at Evan, who was finishing off his beer. Rodney didn’t quite understand the signal, but then John said,

“Hey Evan, can I get another brew?”

Evan nodded. “Sure.” He stood up, headed for Rodney’s mini fridge. “Anyone else?”

Only John caught him by the waist, pulled him down into his lap, and mouthed at his throat.

Evan laughed breathlessly, startled. “I thought you wanted another beer.”

“Later,” John said. “Right now I want you.” He caught Rodney’s eye again. “You know, as the only non-musician of the group, I’m thinking Evan could use a little bit of education on how being a musician is really, really useful in bed.”

“We’re on a chair,” Evan pointed out, ever the sassy one, but then John slid a hand up his shirt and his breath hitched.

“I play the guitar,” John said, “so I’m pretty damn good with my hands. My fingers, specifically. All that picking and strumming makes for a lot of stamina when it comes to small, dexterous movements that require speed and repetition.”

Evan’s eyes were wide, and he was panting and squirming. Rodney knew Evan, like him, had very sensitive nipples, and he could come just from someone playing with them if they played him right.

“What about you, Ronon?” John asked, and he used his clever hands to unfasten Evan’s jeans, slide them down his hips, free his already hard and shining cock. “You play a musical instrument, right? What are you good at?”

John pushed Evan’s shirt up so the others could see the smooth expanse of Evan’s chest and hips, the slide of muscle as he arched into John’s touch. Rodney was hypnotized by John’s fingers on Evan’s nipples, the steady rhythm of fingertips and perky pink flesh.

Ronon, who’d looked deeply contemplative of the music, had a hungry light in his gaze. “Me, I played a whole bunch of instruments you’ve never heard of. Like you, I’m pretty good with my hands. But I think unlike you, I’m also pretty damn good with my mouth.”

He slid out of his seat and crawled across the floor, predatory, like a panther, and slid up between Evan’s knees.

Evan’s eyes were closed, his head tipped back, exposing the long line of his throat as he panted and gasped beneath John’s hands.

John leaned in, nibbled at his throat.

Ronon curled a hand around Evan’s cock, and Evan moaned, but then Ronon leaned in and took Evan into his mouth, and Evan cried out.

Rodney got so turned on watching, and they all knew it. John and Ronon playing with Evan between them was incredibly hot. Even though Evan was broad and strong, between them he looked almost vulnerable, trembling and gasping as John left bruises on his throat and Ronon gripped his thighs, slurping up and down his cock and swirling his tongue, pinning him in place when he tried to thrust.

Just when Rodney thought Evan was going to come, either from being sucked or played with, John lifted his head and Ronon pulled back.

“What about you, Rodney? What has being a musician made you good at?” John asked.

Rodney was hard, but he managed to stand up, move to where the other three were. “I play piano, so I’m also good with my hands, but in a rather different way.”

Ronon slid aside obligingly, and Rodney knelt between Evan’s pale, trembling thighs. He finished tugging Evan’s jeans and underwear off all the way, and then he ran his hands up Evan’s legs.

“Like a guitarist, I have fine motor control, dexterity, speed. Both of my hands have to be independent of each other. But I also have to be better at bigger movements, like a glissando or a sweep.” Rodney danced his fingertips over Evan’s surprisingly soft skin, from ankle to calf to knee to thigh, to the crease of his pelvis.

Evan whimpered and squirmed.

John met Rodney’s gaze, his eyes alight with eagerness.

“Still, I am pretty good at the small movements,” Rodney said. “So enjoy.” He stroked his fingertips down Evan’s cock, dipped behind his balls, and eased a finger into his body.

Evan went wild, because he loved being fucked, but John clamped an arm across his hips, holding him down. John started stroking a nipple with his other hand, and Rodney felt Evan clench around his finger with each stroke, delicate muscles fluttering as he worked Evan open.

“Ronon,” John said, “keep him quiet.”

Ronon needed no further urging, unfastened his trousers and stepped up beside the chair, guided his cock to Evan’s mouth.

Evan latched on eagerly, sucking and licking and moaning as Ronon fucked his mouth.

John said, “Do you want to fuck him, or should I?”

Evan moaned again, and Ronon grunted, fisted a hand in his hair and started to thrust.

Rodney slid a second finger into Evan’s body.

“You go first,” Rodney said, “I’ll go second. If Ronon wants he can go third.”

Evan tightened around Rodney’s fingers again.

Rodney laughed, pressed a kiss to Evan’s belly, swirled his tongue around Evan’s navel. “I knew you’d like the sound of that.”

Once Rodney had Evan open to three fingers, Ronon pulled back long enough to help Rodney shift Evan while John unfastened his pants, and then the three of them settled Evan onto John’s cock.

John fucked him fast and hard, arms tight around him, fondling his nipples the entire time, and he came quickly. He slumped back against the chair boneless, and it was Rodney’s turn. Rodney tugged Evan down onto his lap. He’d regret kneeling on the floor later, but right now he was hard and Evan was moaning and pliant and Rodney’s entrance was eased by John’s come, and Evan clung to Rodney tightly, rocking with him as Rodney thrust into him over and over again, relentless, tugging his hips to make each thrust deep.

Rodney was trying to find Evan’s sweet spot, but from this angle it wasn’t working, and then he was coming, crying out against Evan’s throat.

He was still coming down off his orgasm when Ronon swooped him, plucked Evan off of him and bent him over the coffee table.

“C’mon, Ronon,” John panted from the chair, “play him good. Make him come.”

Ronon growled and sank his teeth into the junction of Evan’s neck and shoulder, and Evan went rigid, came hard.

Ronon fucked him through his orgasm, held onto him and kept thrusting till he came himself, draped over Evan’s back and panting.

Rodney, slumped against the other side of the coffee table, sighed. “That was really hot. And also terribly unhygienic. Right next to the snacks, Ronon? Really?”

Ronon grumbled. “Go get a cloth to clean us up.”

John said, “No, go fill your jacuzzi tub. We can wash up together.”

Rodney actually liked the sound of that. “Yeah. Just give a second to remember how to walk. You okay, Evan?”

“Just fine,” Evan said, a little dazed. “Oh hey - it’s the Red Hot Chili Peppers.” And he hummed along to the song.

Ronon said, “I know this song,” and hummed along too.

So did John.

The next time Rodney heard that song, he knew he’d think of this night.


End file.
